Phoenix Project : The Beginning
by Spiked Reyndrop
Summary: A/U: The end is just the beginning.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dark Angel

**Pairing: **To Be Determined

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **original characters will be featured.

**Note(s)**_**: **_There is no cult in this or ruins, most of the characters that appear in season 2 Dark Angel will appear at some point. This is also pre-pulse for reasons you will understand. All characters will be in character, but if you feel I'm not doing them justice let me know. There will be no bashing of any characters.

**Prologue**

Her current assignment was complete and on its way to the Editor-in-Chief, leaving her free with the mysterious package mocking her, calling her to open it. _What would it hurt?_ She was bored and it was just there sitting on her desk all tempting. Pulling it closer, and carefully peeling off the bland brown paper, she revealed a beautiful antique wooden box; intricate designs carved into its panels, along with what suspiciously looked like Latin script.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a key included with the beautiful trinket. But being an investigative reporter, a few illegal lock picking tricks came as one of her many talents. Curiosity killed the cat, _but then again cats did have nine lives right?_

With a click, the lock fell open.

Hopefully it didn't reveal anything Pandora-like bad. But this was her; she was _always _prone to trouble.

Lifting the lid, she half expected the usual jingle of a music box, but only silence met her; _so much for Pandora_.

A simple cream envelope with her name in black ink, sat at the very top peaking her interest immediately. Perhaps a last will and testament, she wondered but quickly dismissed the idea since she had no relatives left.

_Madison,_

_I wish I could tell you this in person or explain it to you in person, but that is not possible. I left you this, to help you begin your journey. Find the others first; don't waste time in trying to track me down, I am probably dead. Everything you require is inside this box. _

_Be safe._

It remained unsigned. A key was the next thing to catch her attention which could either start her on a worthwhile journey or she could just ignore the cryptic message–highly unlikely when her curiosity was peaked so intensely. She could already feel excitement building in her veins.

Her curiosity needed to be quenched.

The next compartment held photographs. The first picture was of her. The same purple-blue eyes looked back at her, same dark red hair, same features. She looked at least two-years-younger in the picture but it was still her. No smile had graced her face when she had faced the camera; a stern expression covering her face instead. Turning the photograph over, she read the simple inscription **x5-435, "Madison".**

Many questions played in her mind, but she ignored them, placing the picture back into the box. _Later_, she would answer the question later.

The next was one of a beautiful brunette female, looking at something with the corner of her eyes, which as far as she could see were hazel-green in colour. Skin on the slightly tanned side, brunette locks falling down in soft curls past her shoulders, her lips painted a ruby red. The inscription this time read: **x5-465, "Ingrid".**

_X5 __before each three digit number_. It had to mean something right? Grabbing a notebook she noted down X5 with question marks following it.

The next photograph was of a male; light blond hair, hazel eyes, straight nose and smiling mouth. Even though it was a photograph, she could tell that the smile probably had devastating effects of lighting up a room–_Handsome most definitely_. The inscription: **x5-582, "Foxworth".**

A beautiful African-American girl working on a computer unit, with caramel skin tone, brown eyes focused on the screen, and face serious in concentration, and lips pressed thin was the subject of the next photograph. _Were all these people so damn good-looking?_ Inscription: **x5-363, "Skyla".**

The three digit number didn't seem to have any particular order. In fact, they were pretty random. _What do these numbers mean? _She wondered noting it down.

Next a dark blonde girl, with hazel-grey eyes and a smirk tugging at her lips filled the next photograph. Bangs were down to her brow, and arms crossed in defiance. Something told her that she probably would have a lot to say if she were there in person; she just had that look. Inscription: **x5-481, "Nikita".**

_Hot damn! _This guy was gorgeous even with the severe look on his face. On another man the long bangs that fell slightly over his eyes would have looked ridiculous, but on him it just added to his mysterious beauty. The deep blue eyes that peaked through them had a strong intensity that unnerved her slightly, with the sun adding a dangerous glint to the eye it managed to hit, hair shining brown in the light. Inscription: **x5-512, "Angelo".** _Name suits him completely, but…why was handsome holding a gun?_

Icy blue-green eyes with the lightest touch of grey would have been cold on any other man, but the guy on the next picture made them so warm. A toothy smile graced his face. As much as it was sweet, she could tell there was a lot of mischief behind it. Inscription: **x5-382, "Cassidy".**

The next picture made her breath catch, he seemed so…familiar. Those gorgeous eyes were just so familiar, as the freckles she was certain were lightly drizzled across his cheeks and nose, in certain innocence. _Beautiful,_ was the only word that registered in her brain to describe him. She couldn't stop a finger tracing his jaw line.

"Who's the hottie?" Traci, her junior asked peaking at the picture over her shoulder.

That was enough to snap her out of her stupor; Madison quickly returned the photograph into the box and dropped the lid, hiding her precious treasures from Traci's prying eyes. "What do you want Traci?"

"O-k," Traci drawled exaggeratedly at the obvious brush off. Everyone was knowledgeable of the red-head's cold personality, her more than anyone. "Dirk wants you to handle a story."

_A story?_ He was the same guy who promoted her to junior editor despite her constant protest, now, _now_wanted her to handle a story? "Do you have the address?"

"Yeah, it's some interview with some major military dude," handing her the written note from the boss, "said you'd probably be interested," her eyes drifting to the antique box, curiosity shining in them.

Of course Traci was fascinated by anything shiny or expensive looking, not to mention her nosy personality. "Is that all, Traci?" manoeuvring to catch the blonde's wondering eye.

"You should get there early to get priority on a one-on-one interview," she added, voice slightly distracted as her curious eyes returned to the box.

Great, she'd have to do quick research on route. It was just like Dirk to drop assignments on her last minute and expect her to create magic. She could almost see disappointment on Traci face when she grabbed the wooden box along with her keys and coat.

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Thankfully, Dirk helped her out giving her information over the phone as she made her way to the hotel where Gen. Martin Pierce was conducting a press conference. She had to admit, it was better than interviewing boring business men whose only agenda was looking down her shirt. Besides, she did love her little dose of controversy that came with this story; a General who wants to commission a billion dollar pet project of serious arsenal. Sure the economy was at an all time high, but beefing up an already _**excellent**_armoury was completely unnecessary!

As expected, the room was full of reporters. _Damn Traffic! _That left only one option; joining in on the question-answer segment after his statement, and then attempt getting a one-on-one directly after. She pushed her way through the crowd and managed to get a seat at the front next to a male reporter. "This better be worth it, Dirk," she murmured watching the door, awaiting Pierce's arrival.

"Excuse me?" the blue eyed bespectacled man beside her asked in a polite tone.

"I was talking to myself, sorry," she apologized, placing a smile on her face to emphasize it.

To Daniel Morgan, this latest plan proposed by the General was plain ridiculous. Sure they needed to beef up security, since the economy had hit a record breaking-peak and were more prone to attack by rival nations because of it. But the weapon he was looking to develop wasn't the way to go. They'd had a great project, but the ambition of one had destroyed it. What he was proposing now was nothing but billion-dollar child's play.

The General customary statement was short and sweet, immediately followed up by questions. The room practically erupted, each reporter hoping to get their questions answered. If it wasn't for her aggressive nature for getting a story, she probably wouldn't have gotten her two questions in. The man beside her was more unlucky, only getting a question.

Throughout the whole session, she had noticed a man watching her in fascination. Brown eyes were trained on her unwavering, a knowing light shining in them as if he knew her which was rather unnerving. But in her usual fashion she didn't let it show instead noting down everything she needed.

The request for a personal interview was turned down, not that it surprised her after her questions.

Logan, as much as he had tried, couldn't help admire the beauty that had taken a seat beside him. Gorgeous was an understatement when it came to describing her. Yes, he was a reporter always after the truth, but he was a man first and foremost. A man prone to beauty and the fact that she was aggressive in the question session and had a whole three-star general squirming in his seat, made her even more attractive.

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"What do I owe this meeting to, Agent Morgan?" Michael Hoyt beady, annoying eyes lit up with unneeded amusement. However, Danny knew better than to be roped in by the man's antics. It was just too easy to get annoyed.

"It seems that you are just privy to leaving loose ends all over the place," Morgan finally spoke, his tone measured, with no indication of either annoyance or amusement.

An amused smirk plastered itself on Hoyt's face as he took a seat, "if your accusing me of something why don't you just spit it out, rather than talk in your little annoying riddles," matching the man stare for stare. Morgan always did have bravado that he was better than him.

"Why don't you," opening the file on his PDA, he pushed it toward the man; a bigger smirk lighting his face, "look for yourself." The fall of the cocky grin on Hoyt's face was priceless. He would have laughed if the situation wasn't so serious.

"But…she's suppose to be –" He spluttered in utter disbelief.

"-Dead?" He supplied eloquently, "well she looks alive and well to me," brown eyes watching the man who was ready to piss himself, when only a few seconds ago was cocky.

Sky blue eyes looked up at him, frantic. Worry covering every feature he had, and… was that sweat on his brow? "We have to fix this."

"No Mike, there is no _we_. You are going to be accountable for it, since it was _your_ botched operation that created _this_," his brown eyes not even showing a shred of sympathy for the man. How could he, when he'd brought it on himself.

"It was a unanimous decision!"

"No, Andrews and I were veto-d. The only reason you weren't killed was because you were able to bring back six units for cryonics, but I'm not sure the rest would be so forgiving if they found out what a failure the operation really was," leaning back on his chair he replaced the smirk on his face. "The consolation in all this is that if _Madison_ is alive, then _Alexander_ should be close by."

"How is that a consolation?" wondering if Morgan was going senile in his old age. There was _no_consolation! The Collective would definitely want his head on a platter this time. Even the last time, he'd only escaped death by the skin of his teeth.

Pretending to reconsider the statement, Morgan put on a smile, "that's right! There is no consolation in this for you, because 494 will have the support of the rest when he sings about your planned assassination of 435 and himself." In triumph, he propped his feet on the table, "and I'm pretty sure The Collective will commemorate that you were acting alone to save their own asses for supporting your idea in the first place."

All Hoyt could manage was a pathetic gulp. _494_.

"In fact, if I were you I'd be more scared about _Alexander_ than The Collective, because as an ally he was fierce but as you're enemy…" he trailed off for dramatic effect, as he stood up and walked away PDA in hand, only stopping at the door to add: "I almost feel sorry for you. Actually…I don't! You dug your own grave now lay in it," closing the door behind him with a satisfied dimpled grin on his face.

He had to think, and fast. Knowing Morgan even killing him off to shut him up would be useless, the bastard would find a way to screw him over from the grave. Andrews would pretty much revel in him being skinned alive by 494, probably take pictures as souvenirs. The cowardly Collective would gladly hand his ass over to 494 if it meant they'd save their own asses.

He had no inside allies, but he still had a lot of people that owed him favours, and he was calling them in. 494 and 436 would have to die if he was going to live. "Yeah…I'm calling in that favour," he spoke as soon as the man on the other end picked up.

More soon

Reviews would be lovely. Constructive Criticisms is welcomed. Flames … "to each his own".


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dark Angel.

**Pairing: **To Be Determined

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **original characters will be featured.

**Note(s): **None yet

**Chapter One**

He was on 200 when a pair of military issue boots stopped in front of him. It wasn't a surprise who they belonged to, heck he'd been excepting her all morning. "What the hell are you up to?" she demanded hip tilted to side, arms crossed in her usual stance.

"I'm assuming I did something to warrant the death glare?" forfeiting his push ups, standing up to tower her, eyes bored by her attitude.

With a raised eyebrow, her scowl deepened, "this whole recommending me for a mission with you is BS and you know it," stepping closer, not the least bit intimidated by his height.

"And here I thought I was doing you a favour," taking a step closer, "unless you're not confident in your abilities…"

Was he serious, "I know what you're trying, 494, and it won't work," stepping away unnerved by the fact he rarely took her seriously. It was like she wasn't worth his _precious _time.

"And what would that be?" A smirk graced his lips, as he peeled off his shirt, wiping the sweat, "me trying to get into your pants? Yeah, truth is you are pretty hot, but so are 100 other female x5s. Plus, contrary to what you believe, I'm not attracted to anything with two legs and a pulse. You're not my type 452, so don't worry about it," nonchalance covered his features like it wouldn't even matter to him if she went ahead and danced naked in front of him. True, she was gorgeous and fiery but, her bitchiness toward him even though she really didn't know him, was a complete turn off for him. Yet, what he thought was a reassuring statement, seemed to just piss the brunette off even more.

"Like you have a type," was all she said as she brushed past him roughly.

494 couldn't help but chuckle. It's not like he called her ugly.

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Her plan of action was simple, keep the conversation to a minimal get the phone then get the hell out before the guy tried prepositioning her. It was rather obvious to Madison that the guy expected something from her giving Traci an address to his home instead of leaving a number for her to call.

But the said man was in a wheel chair and looked rather harmless and not the lecherous jerk she was expecting. She said harmless not because of his disability but the earnest air about him that spoke of his integrity. One thing she was sure of though, was that Logan Cale had been walking around the day before... maybe she was mistaken.

"Ms. Crane," he greeted, wheeling himself further into the living room point out a leather couch, "please have a seat."

"So... are you a trust fund baby or is all this from hard work," she asked, eyes passing over the expensively furnished apartment. It was slightly rude she knew but she'd always been blunt and thus saw no problem in asking questions she wanted answers to.

"Being a trust fund baby does have its perks," neither embarrassed nor proud about it, since it was true that he did get the penthouse as an overpriced gift before he broke off from the family. It was also true that he kept it, but he wasn't going to act innocent about it or guilty. He'd made a choice and that's it.

Honesty –she liked that, "Then what was a trust fund baby doing at a press conference?" leaning comfortably into the softness of the sofa.

"I'm a writer, and was curious as to what the military wanted to waste tax payer's money on," he shrugged, eyes darting to the long legs there on display, before returning to those purple eyes sparkling with curiosity.

She didn't miss his blue eyes sparing an appreciative glance at her leg before returning quickly to look in her eyes. "Funny and contradictory Mr. Cale since your family's company has been contracted by the same military for the same project," leaning closer, her gaze interrogating daring him to lie.

"I make no excuses for what my family does," Logan answered with a smile, captivated by her tenacity. "That's one of the many reasons I've been cut off. The apartment was a last ditched effort to bring me back to the fold," he elaborated unnecessarily, but aware of where the questioning was headed.

"Okay, if that's true how come they didn't do the whole '_one hand giveth, the other taketh away_' thing," slightly confused as to why he wasn't out on his ass.

He smiled once again, "because it would be in bad taste to kick their recently partially paralyzed son out on his ass –parting gift."

"Oh how empathetic of them," mocking praise at their compassion, before letting a short laugh. "Now that I've satisfied my nosy-investigative-reporter curiosity, do I get my phone back or will you hold it hostage until I apologize?" She knew it was shameless, flirting to get what she wanted but it always worked.

His blue eyes sparkled at the tone of flirtation in her voice, because her usual tone was already low, raspy and seductive. But when she spoke in an even lower octave, it was downright sinful and drew him in further. "I don't need an apology, besides you wouldn't be a good investigative reporter if you didn't ask scandalous questions."

"I would like to continue this conversation, but my boss will get all kinds of anal if I don't get back in the next fifteen minutes; I'm going to need my phone back," she smiled, holding out a hand for her phone.

He really wanted to be hesitant, but she had a job to get to, "I would like that too, Ms. Crane," he assured her, placing the phone in her palm silently hoping to see her again soon as he watched her leave

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CeCe couldn't hold back the tears that fell at the news, close to breaking down. The man who'd saved them from Manticore's clutches and raised them as his own was gone, murdered by some cold hearted son of a bitch because he wanted to protect eight more of them.

She never understood why they were so special –the eight, but if they were important to their father, then she would definitely finish up what he started as a tribute to his memory.

"CeCe, you've got to eat something," her adoptive brother, Biggs implored knowing she hadn't eaten or drank anything since they'd found out about their father's death.

It was killing him that he hadn't insisted on accompanying their father to his meeting. What was worse was the fact their father could have probably held his own if he wanted to, but it seemed like he hadn't even tried. He knew their father was a fighter, a great one and his death, just seemed too easy.

CeCe just moved away from him and watched the rain with a heavy heart. It was like the sky knew of his death and was weeping for him too. As much as she wanted to sober up and just be happy, she just couldn't. She deserved a day of mourning and she had chosen today. "I'm not hungry," was her reply as she watched their uncle walking up the drive way, with his own wards in tow. She loved her cousins, she did, but seeing Dalton and Gem wouldn't be the best at this time. "I'll be in my room," making a quick exit before her uncle or cousins saw her.

"Biggs," Dalton's voice called through the house, moments later. "Where you at?" the 15-year-old called out again, shuffling through the house in search of his cousin.

Clearing his throat to get rid the tears clogging his throat, he answered, "in here squirt," letting out a breath. He hated this! He hated the fact that his father had given his life for those damned eight of his. He hated the fact that he left him with the responsibility of pulling CeCe out of the depression. He hated the fact that it might have gone differently if only he was there. _Damn it dad!_ He punched the nearby wall in frustration.

"You're not taking it well," Gem drawled from the doorway, watching him strike the wall frustration. The only thing keeping her together at the moment was sarcasm and rudeness; Biggs just happened to be the closest target at the moment, unfortunately. Her father squeezed her shoulders, silently telling her to behave.

Biggs could not believe she was being so nonchalant about her uncle's death. "Of course I'm not taking it well, _Gemini_, my father just died," he snapped, voice booming not caring whether or not it was an overreaction on his part. During grief, he was allowed to be irrational.

Dalton couldn't begin to understand how the minds of his relatives worked. His sister was always slightly bitter and now that the only ray of light that made her loosen up was gone, she became even colder. Biggs on the other hand was quite hot-headed and without his father, he easily blew up. As always his father being the peacemaker stepped in the middle to calm tempers, eyes stern.

"Sorry I didn't mean to blow up like that Uncle Isaac, it's just…" he didn't complete the sentence, as a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

Dalton spoke up, "where's CeCe?" wondering what state she was in, if Biggs was this broken up about it. She must be truly devastated. When she had lost her mother, she hadn't slept or eaten for a full week.

"In her room…resting," he lied, knowing she was probably breaking down alone, but he also knew not to bug or pressure her when she wanted to be alone.

Signing to the young man, Isaac gave him a reassuring smile. He'd just lost his older brother, and now he was the only parent to look out for Biggs and CeCe, because though they were grown, they still needed guidance to travel the right path.

When Gem disappeared upstairs to look for her cousin and both Dalton and Biggs left the room to fix something to eat, he tiredly dropped into a chair and picked up a picture of CeCe and Biggs both smiling in their graduation robes with a proud Joshua Miller between them.

His death was a loss, not only to them but the world.

More soon

Reviews would be lovely. Constructive Criticisms is welcomed. Flames … "to each his own".


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dark Angel

**Pairing: **To Be Determined

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **a lot of original characters.

**Note(s)**_**:**_

**Chapter Two**

The mission with 452 had to be the most draining he'd done in a long time. Sure beyond the arguments they worked well together, but all the defensive hurtful remarks tossed back and forth really weren't him. He could only hope that the next Op didn't require pairing with her, or anyone else for that matter.

Working solo was just less taxing on his mind.

A much bigger problem was the fact that his body was stiff and sore, when he hadn't gotten hit once and had gotten enough sleep. He couldn't be coming down with something, could he? _No_, it was impossible he was never sick, heck he had never suffered a single seizure.

The correct thing would be reporting his symptoms and getting treatment for it, but that would likely make him a lab rat; a stiff and sore Transgenic was never a good sign in Manticore terms. With a splash of cool water to his face, he tried driving away the drowsiness.

The black marks only made him sigh harder, why was he the only one to suffer another recurring tattoo? Other Transgenics had to only worry about their barcodes, while he had to consider the repercussions of drawing unwanted attention to him, by having the extra mark. Lucky for him, greasing a few guards to use the laser would solve that problem for a little while.

Stiff, tired and now adding the sting of the laser… it was going to be a long day.

"No collateral damage; you seem to be getting better, even with a stubborn partner like 452," the distinctive baritone that was Donald Lydecker's interrupted his musings, as the old Colonel locked eyes with him through the mirror. Even if he had tried to hide it, he was sure the Colonel was very aware his current state, but seemed to be letting it slid.

Straightening immediately, he turned. "I only did what was asked of me: Successful mission with minimal collateral damage, Sir," his eyes focused on a point above the man's head, to avoid any chance of the Colonel noticing their tiredness.

"You look pale soldier, are you ill?" Lydecker asked unable to ignore the paleness this time round, now that he was confronted by it face to face. _Was he really becoming sick?_

_Crap, _the old dog was still sharp as ever, "No sir. Must be the training and jet lag, nothing a little bed rest won't cure," he dismissed the observation easily, not letting his shoulders tense or his eyes twitch –nothing to draw attention to himself or letting on that something was truly wrong.

"See that you do," the Colonel gave him a last critical look, before leaving.

Don't even think for a second that he was letting it go; something was definitely not right with the young soldier. Lydecker had always kept an eye on this particular one, since a mystery seemed to surround him. All records pertaining to X5-494 before he was returned gravely injured from an Op four years ago, had been mysteriously erased, and he'd spent way too much time in Psy-Ops to be overlooked, still had scheduled visits.

Whatever Manticore was covering up or hiding about him, Lydecker was determined to uncover.

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The papers really didn't make much sense to her. All she had at the moment was a soft board filled with pictures of everyone –Alexander, Skyla, Ingrid, Foxworth, Nicole, Angelo and Cassidy. A search on all names, as expected, came back empty since she was working with first names only.

Other information she'd gotten from the box, were random dates, locations, keys and a keycard –that didn't belong to any hotel room she'd researched. Then she finally got something; at first she hadn't seen it but when she scanned the log sheet for what felt like the umpteenth time, she noticed two locations that had occurred more that once unlike the rest. The one she could get to was McCord Air Force Base, in Washington.

The scribbled _Phoenix _at the top of the sheet was a bit of a riddle though. Did it mean Phoenix, Arizona or something else entirely? Because Phoenix, Arizona hadn't appeared once in the logs, so maybe it had to be something else right? The worst part about the riddle though, was the fact that she _knew _it tied in everything –utterly frustrating.

Sighing in frustration, she abandoned the thinking process for the moment. Maybe if she went for a run and came back to it with fresh eyes she would find something she was missing.

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When Logan had begun, he knew it was intrusive but he couldn't help himself. Since he'd laid eyes on her, he'd been captivated and wanted to know everything about her. And now that he had conducted an investigation on the beauty, he'd discovered that Madison Crane was an even bigger mystery than he'd thought.

According to his search, Madison, didn't exist on record until 3 years ago –no birth record, social security, no schooling record. The most intriguing bit was the fact that her first official record was a medical file at Harbor Lights.

A further look into to it revealed that she'd been brought in with serious injuries and unconscious, only waking from her coma 6 months later with amnesia. The attending surgeon was baffled at her quick recovery and was even more confused with how a woman who'd lost that much blood and suffered such extensive injury wasn't dead on arrival, more importantly, survived to walk out 6 months later with little to no scarring.

_Who are you? _He wondered, studying the publicity shot of her covering his computer screen, smile lighting her eyes and face beautifully.

The only lead he had was now dead; A Dr. Joshua Miller, killed in a botched robbery a few weeks prior. He had supposedly taken over the Madison's medical care while she was in a comatose state and disappeared immediately after she had awoken. Further digging into the man proved that he indeed was a doctor and licensed, not a quack as he'd first feared. Joshua Miller had actually headed up the Miller Research Institute that specialized in the study of genetics and genetic diseases, 'til his death –nothing fishy about the man at all.

Wife, Annie Miller, was killed in a car accident, had been blinded at a young age by an especially deadly strain of measles and had been a regular run-of-the-mill house wife. Their two children, Cecil and Biggs, were adopted, graduated high school with high honors and were currently pursuing university education. His brother Isaac was mute, with two children and one grandchild.

Gathering some nerve, he picked up the cordless and dialed, patiently waiting for an answer on the other end.

"_You've reached me, Madison Crane, Congratulations! Leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can_" the answering machine's recorded message came through the speaker, followed by the telltale beep.

"Hi, it's Logan Cale," he began, "I was calling to see if you'd be interested in having dinner with me sometime? Anyway, let me know… bye," he completed in the most neutral voice he could muster, fear of her outright rejection filling his mind.

Hopefully she wouldn't.

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"She's alive," Andrews said, surprise sneaking into his tone. But the question was answered with a blaring yes by the photograph in his hand. There she was same lavender-blue eyes and red hair, a little grown but still her. Clearing his throat, "so, is he –"

"-unfortunately, I don't have that information. She was alone," Morgan replied, regarding the emotions playing on his friend's face. He was definitely affected by the news, in a good way.

Jason Andrews was the only person he trusted beside himself. The two of them had been through a lot together, from being in the Marine Corps together to accepting the offer by the Collective to join the project. Jason had been the one there when his wife, Elisa, died. Denny in turn had been there for him when he'd lost his sister, Carrie, to a hit and run. They had each other's backs like blood brothers and best friends, so he was confident they would proceed successfully together. Especially now that he knew Madison was alive.

Jason let a smile tug at his lips, "I'm guessing you got a plan already figured out. Let's hear it," settling comfortably in his seat once again regarding the closest thing he had to a brother in his life.

"Hoyt is already on the move to trying to _rectify _his mistake, meaning he's planning to take out both 452 and 494 before they _try _taking him out," Denny explained simply, knowing the gnat was hell bent on being as resilient as a cockroach. But, his usual lose ends were going to be an advantage to them.

Jason couldn't say he was surprised at that –Hoyt's plan had failed miserably and now he was a dead-man-walking from all sides, scrambling for his survival. "He's still alive?" It was more of a comment than a question.

"Only because he promised the Collective he'd correct his errors and 494 and 452 are most likely suffering from amnesia," Denny offered up his theory on the situation. 453 would probably be forgiving because it was in her nature, but 494 would likely hunt him down and make Hoyt suffer a slow agonizing death if he had a memory. He was fairly sure that the reason the mission went sideways was because 494 discovered its real intention. "What I suggest is let him find 494 first before we move in –less work for us and it would piss him off."

Jason laughed, "Have I said I like your style?"

"Not lately," Denny smiled a dimpled smile, "but I have someone watching Madison until we can make a move." It wasn't that Madison couldn't handle herself against an attack, but the fact that she didn't have a memory and Hoyt's knowledge of their weaknesses that he was weary of; they needed to keep a close eye on her for her own safety.

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It was only lunch and 494 felt like crap. His movements and reflexes were slow; slow enough for a trainer to call him out for his lack concentration, a lack of concentration that consequently landed him at a table with 796. He had nothing against the other male, but 796 sure as hell had a problem with him not being first now that 494 had taken the position. Seriously though, the guy needed to get over it because all being top got him was more attention that he would have rather not had.

"Off your game today, _494_,"spitting out his designation like it was an insult or tasted horrible on his tongue, as he sent an amused grin 494's way, noting the blonde haired male's tired and ashen features.

494 wasn't all that surprised that the moron was utilizing his off day to taunt him. "Explains the fact that you could _finally_ keep up with me," as always his mouth was too slick to control, as he attempted eating a spoonful of the disgusting, _nutritious_,grey sludge they were trying to pass off as food. The comment would likely piss off 796, but at the moment he didn't care. He wasn't having the best day and the guy was just adding to his stress. _Lasers aren't fun_.

"You think that's funny punk?" 796's voice thundered through the room, features contorted into an nasty snarl, looming menacingly over the leaner transgenic who was still calm and undisturbed, eating his lunch.

"Not funny," 494 agreed contemplatively, before adding, "hilarious!" the correction dripping with his usual smart ass tone, aggravating the other male further, or enough for him to be pulled out of his seat by the front of his shirt.

Max, like the rest looked up. The dining hall fell into silence, all looking in the direction of the two males. It didn't shock her all that much that 494's smart mouth got him into trouble. The other transgenic he pissed off was a combat model, with much more bulk, muscle and strength than 494's leaner stealth frame. What baffled her though, was that no guard or transgenic had moved to stop the brawl. Rather, the guards looked scared while the other transgenic's seemed wary.

"Still _hilarious_,"796 demanded 494, who remained impassive by the whole situation, as if he wasn't being threatened by the other male.

He must have really looked like shit, if 796 was stepping up to him and attacking him like this, "No," he said in a serious tone, but he couldn't maintain it even if he wanted, his face broke into a smirk. "But, your face… seriously man purple and red aren't your colors," that did it, provoking the first punch.

Judging by the surprised looks on the other transgenics' faces, she assumed that shouldn't have happened or at least they'd expected 494 to block the blow. The tension stepped up a notch –a storm was definitely coming.

Before anyone could blink or let out the breath they were holding, 796 was on the table face first, arm twisted in an odd angle behind his back, screaming in agony. Every single one of them had heard the sickening crunch of bones being broken because of the silence. The sequence of events had been a blur, even to a trangenic's eye but from what Max could catch, 796 had gone for a second punch but 494 caught his fist before it made contact –_CRUNCH _–and twisted 796's arm behind him with a swift jerk, sending him face first into the table. From the awkward angle of his shoulder, it was clear that the combat model's shoulder had popped out of its socket.

"494 release 796 immediately!" Renfro's annoying voice ordered in an authoritative boom through the hall, stirring guards and transgenics out of their stupors.

_Broken wrist, dislocated shoulder? What the hell! _494 had only wanted to restrain him, but… He hadn't even used that much force to begin with, so 796 injuries didn't make sense at all. Electric current coursed through his body making him spazm helplessly, told him he must have disregarded an order –or the guard had been truly scared at the events. He welcomed the blackout because his mind was too overloaded and frantic to function without short circuiting at the moment.

Confusion was the last emotion she'd seen playing on 494's before he collapsed unconscious after the unnecessary stunning. That only brought focus to things she hadn't notice before like the fact that he was too pale even before the stunning, and his eyes were rather tired, yet he'd managed to not only flip an X5 of 796's size, but break his wrist and dislocate his shoulder? Not only that, but he'd been completely unaware of the approaching guards, just stood there shocked by his actions. _What's going on with him_, Max couldn't help wonder.

"What's wrong?" Renfro demanded seeing the guard retracting his hand quickly like he'd been burnt as soon as he touched 494.

"He's scorching ma'am," he stuttered an explanation, still trying to ease the burning sensation on his palm.

"Does it look like I care?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow even though a curious light snuck into her eyes. A look that made Max slightly sick, because it shouted experiment and lab rat –the old bat couldn't wait to run test on him.

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"Who the hell gave you the right to step into my jurisdiction, Renfro?" Lydecker fumed, busting into the medical wing. The bitch actually thought she could get her grubby hand on one of his kids today or any day? She was gravely mistaken.

She smiled falsely, "he injured another X5, and is running quite a fever," unaffected by Lydecker's anger.

"My kid's running a fever, how is that your problem?" he asked, eyes narrowed to barely slits wrinkles displaying themselves at the corners of his eyes.

"Call it curiosity," a smile still on her stern face, "he's burning up, pale and aggressive. Can you explain it?" her eyes moving to the restrained form of the X5.

Stepping close to her, "well now that your _curiosity _has been quenched," he let a brief, but deadly smile grace his face, "get the hell out."

"There is something _wrong _with 494 we both know it, and you _protecting _your _kids _when we can help is ludicrous, but your right –I have no jurisdiction here, I'll leave," breezing past him with a smile that was knowing and bordering on genuine at her _discovery_.

He already knew there was something up with 494, he didn't need to be reminded, but if Renfro got her hands on him like she wanted it would be a disaster. It wasn't a secret that the woman wanted 494 ever since he'd arrived at the facility, for selfish reasons.

But he'd have to be dead before she ever got her hand on him.

More soon

Reviews would be lovely. Constructive Criticisms is welcomed. Flames … "to each his own".


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dark Angel

**Pairing: **To Be Determined

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **a lot of original characters.

**Note(s): thank you for reading, reviewing, adding this to your favorites and alerts.**

**Chapter Three**

_6 AM_. What the hell was she doing up this early, heck what the hell was _he _doing up this early. "CeCe why are we doing this at _this _time of day again," stifling a yawn, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"You didn't have to come," she snapped, shifting through papers searching for the slightest clue on where to begin with her new agenda.

With a frown he watched her. Sure he was happy she was out of funk, but this was insane. Finding dad's _Magic 8_ was like getting his their hands on the code to the nuclear arsenal, frigging impossible. But if it distracted her long enough to forget her despair, he was all for it. Besides, a little madness never hurt anyone. "I'm only here to make sure you don't get your ass into any legal trouble or otherwise," propping his feet on his father's desk and leaning back further in the leather chair.

"This would go faster if you got off your ass and helped me," she remarked, moving to shift through another cabinet. She had to find something, rather she _needed _to find something or she'd lose her mind. If the eight were what he died protecting; then they'd know _why _they were so important to their father.

True, but what exactly was he supposed to help her find? It's not like dad was brain dead to label a file _Magic 8:My Big Secret_, "look for what exactly? We don't even know if the file is here or if it even exists."

"Look, if you're going to be a pessimist, then leave me alone, Biggs. I don't need your negativity here –it's not helping," she sighed tiredly, not finding anything already weighing her down.

"Hey…hey," moving over to her quickly, massaging the tension from her shoulders to soothe the helplessness he'd evoked. "I'm just… I'm an idiot. I'll help you look for whatever –no complaints," he hugged her, placing a soft kiss in her hair.

She touched his arm, "You're all I got now, B. Please just help me in this."

"I'll try my best," he promised.

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At first she had been pissed at her new babysitting assignment, but Max realized that 494 wasn't so bad sedated. Heck, he was tolerable. Maybe it was the fact that for once the idiot needed someone. As much as he was sociable he never really _needed _anyone and wasn't afraid to show it. So far it had been 24hrs and no incident, probably because he was still asleep.

"What did you do to piss off 'Deck?" his husky voice inquired, hazel-green eyes fluttering open regarding her with light amusement.

_Well that's the end of tolerable, _rolling her eyes. "Someone's got to help with damage control, since your sorry ass got high on Renfro's to-do list," discreet eyes noting the paleness of his skin. He still wasn't 100%, she could tell not only because of the paleness, but the tiredness and dark circles under his eyes.

"What can I say, people can't help being attracted to me," he joked, reaching for the jug of water on the nightstand, but she beat him to it and poured it herself, handing it to him. "Thanks."

"You're hot," she commented on his elevated temperature, that was high enough to practically scorch her skin at the brush of his fingers.

A grin pulled at his lips, "you finally noticed or are you finally voicing you inner most thoughts?" his dry throat moving back to normal state, his thirst quenched.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm totally in love with you," she said, sarcasm dripping in every word as she settled back in her seat. _I take it back, utterly intolerable even when sick, _she noted mentally.

He still didn't understand why she still disliked him so much. He admitted on hitting on her once, but she'd turned him down and that had been that. His golden rule was never go back, and hadn't tried after that day, instead settling on riling her because he could. "Who wouldn't be?"Stating it as if it was mere fact, he had always been well aware of his good looks and its effects on the female, and sometimes male, species.

"Do you ever listen to what you say or do you just spout bull shit hoping no-one notices?" she feigned false curiosity. His arrogance and conceit had to have its limits, right?

He chuckled, taking another gulp of water, "I wonder what pisses you off more –the fact that it is totally true or you know it," What, he just couldn't help baiting her when it was so damn easy riling her up.

"You know, I liked you better knocked out. At least then you were the a bit bearable," refusing to get baited, just to amuse him.

"Now, 452, that hurt. Are you always this mean to sick people?" placing a hand over his heart for dramatic emphasis, a false serious expression on his face.

_This guy is unbelievable, _"No. Just the jackasses, you know, like you," a sickly sweet smile on her face, to accompany the less than sweet remark.

"Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner sucks? Seriously no compassion at all," he tsked. Yeah, he liked her fiery, because 452 was beautiful but completely sexy when angry. He still didn't know why on earth Lydecker thought it was a good idea to have her watch him he didn't know, but he couldn't dismiss that he kept him entertained.

"How about you do us a monumental favour and …SHUT UP, like a good sick person?" entertaining the thought of smothering him with a pillow more and more.

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"All of them are off the ice as ordered, Sir," Dr. Hollander reported once Denny Morgan stepped closer to the observation window to watch the proceedings.

As much as the man had a handsome face at his age, he always managed to intimidate with his presence. Why he always insisted on dealing with her specifically when visiting the facility was beyond her.

He raised an eyebrow, feeling her eyes on him, watching warily like he would pounce on her at any minute. "Anything else?" he asked, turning swiftly to catch her in the act. She did make a pretty dear caught in headlights.

"Y-yes sir," averting her eyes from his penetrative gaze, a blush coloring her cheeks, "Fox, Red, Nikki and Angel are all undergoing some type of cellular change –we are monitoring them, but so far it looks harmless." Reading from the notes she'd taken during observation, hoping her hands weren't shaking too much.

"Do you have any idea of what is causing it?" he inquired concerned by the new development. Mutation had and would never be a good thing, but he calmed his thoughts with the fact that Megan hadn't used the word _mutation _but _cellular change_.

She dared looking up at his chocolate orbs, "I can only make a guess and say it's genetically-linked to them. It's almost systematic in its occurrence, since it began with _Fox –_ who is the oldest. The younger ones _Skyla _and _Cassidy _are yet to exhibit any changes, but –like I said before –it doesn't look like something we should worry about."

"Keep me posted," he requested, but his stern tone made it sound like more of a demand, making her cower slightly. Maybe he was at fault since their first meeting hadn't been all that pleasant, due to his foul mood and he never smiled. But, she had nothing to fear from him; he would never hurt her, even if he wanted.

With a nod she made a quick exit, eyes hidden under dark bangs.

"When's the wedding?" Jason asked, entering the room. It was a fact that his friend was always in a much better mood after seeing the young doctor. He couldn't blame the man though, because Megan was a very beautiful woman, with innocence about her that many working on the project lacked, which he guessed was refreshing for his friend.

A smile graced Morgan's face, "Any problems?" obviously avoiding the object. It was a well known fact that he was still deeply in love and devoted to Elisa, even in death and entertaining the idea of being attracted to another woman, especially one so young, was foolish and unacceptable.

"None," Jason answered, well aware of Morgan's obvious deflection. "She's infiltrated Madison's work place and is probably establishing contact as we speak."One thing was for sure, Denny was definitely attracted to the doctor –otherwise he wouldn't have deflected so clumsily.

"You sure you want her handling it? It could get ugly," Denny reminded, well aware of the emotional tie between Jason and their _inside-woman_. He would hate for her to be injured –for his friend's sake.

"Cindy is an effective and efficient agent, she can handle herself," Jason assured easily knowing Original Cindy was still a competent agent even if she'd chosen to quit. The added advantage was that she was human, and her infiltration methods had always been praised for being the best.

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"Would you quit, I'm fine," swatting away Ryan's persistent hand, Madison declared.

"Maddie you're stiff, tired, pale as death and –" finally managing to get a hand to her forehead, only to retract it at the sheer heat of his skin, "burning up!"

With a roll of the eyes, she stood. "I'm fine Ry, seriously, quit worrying," but she contradicted her statement almost immediately, as she stumbled before he knees finally gave way. The only thing preventing her from connecting with the ground were Ryan's quick reflexes that were holding her up.

"_Quit worrying?_"He repeated in question, eyebrow raised in skepticism. "I'm taking you home. Can you walk?" he asked, hazel eyes looking her over.

She wanted to maintain her okay-status, but he knees still felt weak. "Not really," she admitted sheepishly, knowing she was on the wrong and required help. Without further argument, she looped her arms around his neck, allowing him to pick her up in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Traci asked with her usual curiosity.

Ryan almost rolled his eyes at the nosy blonde, but he wasn't one for childish antics. "She's not feeling well, so I'm taking her home," noting the look of pure mortification on Madison's face at having to be carried out of the office bridal style.

"She does look worse for wear," the blonde commented, following them out of the office.

Ryan guessed the blonde was too preoccupied by her prying to take heed of his instructions, so he opted for the African-American female who seemed less stunned by Madison's prone appearance. "Could you please get her jacket, keys and bag for me?"

"No problem, sugar," she immediately set out on her requested task. "Hope your boo gets well soon," handing the items over.

"Thanks," he told her gratefully, leaving them with task of telling their boss of Madison's absence.

Once she was far enough from curious eyes and prying ears, she hit speed dial one. "Our girl seems to be sick, her boy took her home a few minutes ago. Do I follow?"

"_No remain at your location, we already have someone on her tail,_" Jason replied.

As if he was standing in front of her she raised a sassy eyebrow, "so what's Original Cindy suppose to do when baby girl ain't in the office? You know Original Cindy don't like being idle."

"_You could always work,_" he suggested in amusement before hanging up.

Boy was so damn lucky, she got love for him or he'd be hearing quite a bit of French from her. There were perks to her jobs though, like the girl she was watching being all types of fine and Traci was being in denial of being into the hunnies.

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Ames White had never been a patient man, and Hoyt making him wait was really aggravating him. It had him wondering whether taking that favor from the man all those years ago was really worth it, now that the moron was demanding payback.

"What is this about Hoyt, I'm a very busy man," White stated coolly once the car settled from the entrance of a new occupant.

Hoyt frowned not appreciating being regarded as some sort of nuisance. White had and would never be above him, even if he tried to make it seem that way. "Don't act like you have better things to do, White, I'm the reason you have the life you have."

"Don't waste our time, Hoyt and just get to the point," ignoring the man's remarks that sounded rather similar to the devil coming for the soul he'd been promised, like he somehow _owned _him. Back then he'd needed help, but that didn't give the man the right to threaten him this way. NOBODY owned or threatened him.

"I need you to find someone and take care of him for me," he replied ignoring the annoyance in the other man's voice. His request said so easily and simply like he was asking him to go buy him some ice-cream, and not telling him to track someone down and kill them.

"Why not hire a hit man, rather than coming to me with this?" he asked, not at all amused at the _favor_.

His reply was a file being dropped in his lap. _Was he really serious? _He wondered with a raised eyebrow, but humored the other man anyway and opened the file. Eyes immediately hardened when they landed on the photograph.

"I figured you'd be interested in killing the bastard that killed you lovely wife," Hoyt told him, pleased at the reaction he'd evoked.

More soon

Reviews would be lovely. Constructive Criticisms is welcomed. Flames … "to each his own".


	5. Notice

**NOTICE**

As much as the idea of this story is mine, and I haven't 'borrowed' ideas from anybody, I have been told I have. Plagiarism is a serious offence and I would never intentionally or otherwise copy or mimic someone else's work and pass it off as my own. With that being said, I hope that readers who think this could please direct me to this story so I can verify if my themes are indeed copied. It's disturbing to be accused of something without being told where I supposedly took it from.

Spiked Reyndrop


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